


Assorted Selection of Monsters - Justice is Blind

by TurboFerret



Series: Assorted Selection of Monsters [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: AU, Cruelty, Dark Prowl, Dubious as fuck, Eye Trauma, Hacking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insanity, Loss of Control, M/M, Mind Games, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prowl is a decepticon Tactician, War Crimes, alternative universe, an actual mindfuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-02-05 07:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12789840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurboFerret/pseuds/TurboFerret
Summary: Jazz and Prowl are in opposing factions and their work agaisnt each other has evolved into a macabre game for Prowl, forcing Jazz to play along or perish,





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Jazz/Prowl fick and the first fick portraying such amount of unpleasantness. Heed the warnings and I'm sorry.

 

Jazz cursed, rolling behind another piece of concrete. None of his team had been seriously injured yet but they had been forced to move closer towards the prisoner containment area. Jazz could not help feeling of being toyed with - they were being forced into a corner without much fight by sheer brute force of concrete.   

 

One small part of his processor unoccupied with the battle felt indignant about this. Jazz was the main maestro, he was the one to play around with his opponents, not the other way round. The thought sat uneasily in his tanks.

 

A suspicious snapping sound dragged Jazz from his reverie and he noticed the slow descent of a slab of concrete that had previously acted as a convenient shield to deflect the enemy fire. 

 

-”Heads up!”

 

He had restored to yelling because their comms were blocked - courtesy of Soundwave and it was not like they were being discrete anyway. Jazz dove out of the way as the slab descended with a squeal of rebar, dragging with it a cloud of dust.

 

For one eerie moment Jazz’s audios were ringing due to the deafening din. The saboteur covered his audials in agony.

 

-”Primus Fraggit!” 

 

Covered in dust, vents wheezing, Jazz tried to make out who on his team was ok when he noticed some of his subroutines not responding, helpfully, one of his filtering systems informed him of a presence of a certain compound in the atmosphere before fritzing out. 

 

Nanite-Gas - bad news.

 

Jazz tried moving but his gyros spun dizzyingly, he leant against the wall for support but his mag-grapplers refused to initiate, other non-vital systems were shutting down, too, together with his optic feed.

 

Jazz switched to his auxiliary consciousness support - glitchy but still somewhat functional despite the intoxication. He hauled himself up, this had turned to be worse than any of them had anticipated. The dust started settling and through the shimmery haze he saw a group of mecha approach, headed by two door-winged figures… Jazz reset his visor, ah, One door-winged figure, considering that he now saw double.

 

Seeing double meant he could not aim for scrap but it was likely that if he aimed somewhere inbetween the doubles he might actually hit something.

 

Settling dust billowed about them, pinching his glossa between denta, Jazz chanced a shot. The recoil sent his gyros whirling and he landed on his back, just in time to avoid the shootout that erupted moments later. As his auxiliary consciousness started failing as well Jazz thought that perhaps he had actually hit something important to warrant such response.

 

His lack of consciousness brought him back to a place he’d rather not revisit.

 

-”I like you, Jazz, quite a lot.” the mech had purred. -”I adore your duplicity.”

 

Jazz smothered a hiccup when a white hand came to caress his injured helm whilst simultaneously their hardline delivered him to another level of pain, sensitizing all his receptors until the gentle touch burned.

 

-”You stand by a regimen that claims they are right, that they are in the Just part of this war yet they employ mecha like you.”

 

::Or, is it Meister that gets all the nasty assignments?::

 

Prowl whispered in Jazz’s processor, not yet willing to share This information with the rest of the Decepticon crew. As the head Tactician, Prowl preferred keeping most intel to himself unless it benefitted him somehow.

 

Wisely, Jazz remained quiet, that cost him no energy and he had to divert all his resources to guarding that last bit of mind which kept the most sensitive data. And it was not like Prowl needed encouragement for his monologue.

 

-”As you may know, I have also served Justice in my time and for all I know, Justice is blind to the factions. It does not discriminate among Autobots and Decepticons.”

 

A deliberately gentle caress brought Jazz back to the outer world as Prowl traced the thin protoform under his optic.

 

-”Which is where you come in, darling, I will help you to be closer to the Autobot ideal.”

 

-”Wu-what?”

 

Jazz sputtered, blue optics widening and meeting Prowl’s red ones. He gazed at the captive Autobot with a warm smile that almost bordered on adoration.

 

-”I’ll make you into an icon of Justice for Autobots to worship.”

 

This was the level of Crazy Jazz did not anticipate and despite himself he started struggling against his bonds once again.

 

-”Hush, dearest, you will be beautiful.” Prowl looked at Jazz’s terrified face over his high cheekbones, caressing under the Autobot’s optics once more, gently, before his thumb eclipsed the blue, glowing iris and pushed inwards.

 

Jazz screamed and shot upright, venting harshly, frantically feeling for his visor.

 

Images from his case file of ‘Extreme violence’ still dwelled in his mind like a wall of looming terror. Prowl had not demanded prisoner exchange with Jazz, Jazz’s lax frame was left in a negotiated spot, tied to a pillar to keep it upright. His empty optic sockets tied shut with an energon-soaked rag, streaks of dried blue decorating his face like macabre tears; and what looked like a makeshift scale was tied to his other hand. It was a claim, a declaration, a way of demoralising enemy, and it was far more devastating for those, who knew what it stood for. 

 

Jazz shook himself out of the stupor .

 

_ Now is not the time for this. _

 

Tucking his panic in the furthest part of his mind, Jazz smirked, he had not accounted for waking up again so there was That silver lining. His processors still sent him angry snarls for doing what he had done but Jazz was too preoccupied with taking in the situation to pay them much mind. 

 

Well slag him twice over with a rusty rod, this was interesting. His captors had deemed it wise to put him in a single cell, no visible doors or windows, no furnishings. No color alteration - the interior could have been a seamless white cube for all it mattered, a single source of light just above him.

 

Jazz shifted, trying to move only noticing that he had been put in stasis cuffs. Smirking, he fiddled with them and after a little while, the cuffs clattered to the floor and Jazz rubbed his wrists. Unswayed by the seemingly easy escape he traced his digitips against the wall. The stasis cuffs had never been meant to hold him either way. The Decepticon Tactician was far too good and, Jazz had to begrudgingly admit - knew him too well to put his trust into stasis cuffs alone.

 

The walls seemed smooth and seamless to the touch. Had the slagger actually gone through the trouble to build this for Jazz?  ‘Structies could sure do that, Jazz had seen some of their more ingenious creations. This was almost flattering, in that creepy way Jazz wanted to have no part of.

At first it was easy to write it down to insanity - already fairly prevalent in Decepticon ranks but after a  couple of serious spark-to-spark chats with  Smokescreen - enforced and prescribed by Ratchet, Jazz got a new, much more disturbing image of the Decepticon Praxian, he realized that it was probably a bit more than that.

 

Prowl’s interest had started off as teasing on battlefield, leaving Jazz with calculated openings and baits to lure him where the Praxian wanted. In the end Jazz was always let go but he hated to admit that with each time the mech became more forceful and more skilled at getting under Jazz’s plating until the last time that had, Jazz hated to admit, permanently scarred him both physically and mentally. 

 

When Jazz had sufficiently recuperated from his last capture, Smokescreen gave him a short intro into Praxian frames and their weak points with a thorough servos-on demonstration.

 

-”You will want to aim for doorwings, joints, to be more precise.” Smokescreen had wiggled the appendages and pointed at the hydraulics behind whose. -”See these? These are super sensitive, pull it out with enough strength and you’ve got a mech incapacitated, do it lightly and he may think it’s a come-hither.”

 

Jazz shot him a look and Smoksecreen shrugged.

 

-”He’s a crazy slagger and you are better off knowing what to hit where and with what intent, especially in Prowl’s case.” At Jazz’s lack of response Smokescreen canted a doorwing his way and pointed into the middle part of it. 

 

-”This here can cause loads of pain but it usually is covered by layers of armor, if you manage piercing it though, you can easily knock him into stasis.”

 

Now captured, Jazz smirked, feeling an energon dagger still nestled snugly along his arm struts. Such mods were usually dangerous for the carrier since the blade could easily pierce energon lines but Jazz managed building in a sheath that permitted him to be somewhat safe, unless his strut was shattered, then he would be in a world of pain and in danger of leaking more energon than one would usually.

 

Experimentally he knocked on walls to look for a door or hidden panels, nothing - no echoes, no hollow-sounding nooks. Jazz could have chanced kicking through but the walls seemed to have a uniform padding that varied very little - even to Jazz’s half-slagged sensitive audios.

 

The floors, however… Jazz now inspected those for any points of weakness because he fondly recalled using that trick to escape from a poorly-guarded detainment area in some back-corner of the galaxy once and hey, nobody said it would not work again.

 

And there it was, a lovely rectangular seam, Jazz could work with that!

 

With newly-found zeal he started to fiddle about the seam to see if the flooring would budge or it anything else would happen, what he did not anticipate though was the tile moving. 

 

Slowly it pressed itself out of the smooth surface of the floor. Jazz sprang back - no flooring seams should be This cooperative.

 

Jazz crouched low, glancing around with care just in case the room had more surprises in store. 

 

Nothing.

 

The tile was the only thing that was moving, now much higher above the rest of the flooring. Then suddenly the tile ended and for one surreal moment Jazz thought it hovered in the air. But no, it was just attached to what looked like thick glass. 

 

And then Jazz caught a glimpse of black and white doorwings and red chevron, followed by red optics. For a moment Jazz remained completely motionless as they came face to face - measuring each other.

 

Prowl stood in what could only be described as a bulletproof container, Jazz crouched on the floor, willing his fight or flight protocols to behave. There was no point in panicking.

 

-”Do you like it? I had it made it just for you.”

 

Jazz permitted himself a small chuckle and stood up from his crouch, leisurely approaching the structure.

 

-”Aw shucks you shouldn’t have.”

 

Jazz tested if he could touch the glass of the structure by hovering his hand over it, then testing with one finger.

 

-”On the contrary - how else am I to keep you where I want you?”

 

Jazz didn’t let the words get to him and instead started feeling along the edges of the glass case, looking for weaknesses and points of tension.

 

-”Your gall at attempting escape with me in the room is astonishing.”

 

-”If this is what ah think this is then you can’t do anything ta’ me regardless.”

 

Jazz took a running start and barrelled his frame against the glass structure, bouncing back with a swear and rubbing his shoulder.

 

Prowl chuckled stated in the most impartial manner, -”You are right - I personally can’t.” Then leveled Jazz with a grin that made the saboteur stop whatever he had been doing. 

 

-”But the room can.”                                                                   

 

Moments later what seemed to be a mesh wrought from light fibers materialised on one side of the room and swept through to the other end, trapping Jazz in a paralysing grip of a mild stasis lock.

 

Temporarily shocked, Jazz could only watch helplessly as the container unsealed and the Decepticon tactician stepped out and approached him. Jazz managed only a mild whine when a clawed hand tilted his jaw upward.

 

-”This is a rather mild punishment, but having you incapacitated was all that was necessary. I can take it from here.”

 

Prowl drew a clawtip over Jazz’s sharp jawline, not shy about drawing energon. This situation was unsettlingly familiar and he couldn’t help wincing.The saboteur tensed slightly under the onslaught, attempting to work his jaw furiously. 

 

-”Looking for this?”  Prowl raised what Jazz recognized as a suicide pill between his forefinger and thumb. -”I had Hook remove it while you were out. I would not want you to depart from my company so soon.”

 

Jazz vented harshly, visor glowing eerily bright.

 

Prowl paused, his doorwings twitching slightly. Moments later, a loud explosion shook the base. 

 

Frowning, Prowl turned away from his captive and touched the side of his helm, receiving a comm. Another, weaker tremor ran through the base then and Prowl canted his doorwings suddenly alert about something else moving, much closer to him, in fact, just behind.

 

He had only a click to turn towards where Jazz had been to see the other mech pouncing at him, aiming for the doorwings.

 

Prowl swore, Jazz grinned.

 

-”Ya, Really shouldn’ave done that, Prowler.”

 

Prowl took a step back and somehow sidestepped the attack with an almost comical precision, capturing Jazz’s arm in the process and pulling the other mech into a lock. Jazz snarled as his arm was twisted in an unnatural angle, forcing him to drop to his knees.

 

He went limp, staying still for a moment, estimating where exactly his captor was and then, in a sudden burst of motion he kicked behind himself, aiming for Prowl’s ankle. His aim was spot on and the Praxian swore but did not release his hold on Jazz’s arm, however his hold changed and that was all that Jazz needed. 

 

Twisting from underneath the Tic, Jazz landed a kick at Prowl’s mid-section, effectively sending the other flying. Jazz happily noted a whimper from the other as Prowl landed less than gently on his back. He would not get to those hinges but the other sensitive parts of doorwings were fully at his disposal, Jazz purposefully felt along his wrist girdle for a handle of the dagger and pulled the sharp, thin blade out or his arm.

When Prowl blinked static out from his optic feed and managed reigning in the painful feedback from his crushed appendages, he became aware of two things. One - Jazz was straddling his frame now and two - he hovered what seemed to be an energon dagger just over his face.

 

-”Never shoulda left ya safe space, _ Prowler _ .” Jazz had a nasty grin as he swayed the point of the sharp tool just above Prowl’s left optic with what seemed to be a careless motion.

 

Prowl narrowed his optics and smirked slightly, recognizing the implications all too well. But he was not going to voice empty threats, Jazz had him cornered.

 

-”Very well, what is it that you want?”

 

-”Unlock my T-cog.”

 

-”I can’t do that.”

 

To this Jazz’s dagger arm lifted and descended sharply. Stabbing pain bloomed in Prowl’s left doorwing but the only outward indication of it was the sudden dilation and narrowing of the tacticians optic irises.

 

That was creepy as slag but Jazz kept his calm.

 

-”How ‘bout we try again?”

 

-”You might as well kill me here, Jazz, unlocking your T-cog is not within my power to do.”

 

Prowl emanated nothing but unnerving stillness, did the mech have Any sense of self-preservation or any sense of, well, pain?

 

Jazz straightened suddenly, receiving a comm of his own but instead of losing focus, he just twisted the dagger slightly in the pierced doorwing to make sure Prowl would not attempt anything funny. He and his mechs were being busted out! Jazz made an executive decision to bring a hostage.

 

-”Ye’r comin’ wit’...”

 

Jazz didn’t get to finish as a fist went right for his visor, he pulled back instinctively, hoping that the pinned doorwing would limit the Praxian’s range but Jazz hadn’t accounted for the Praxian to  _ knee  _ him from the back in the spinal strut, causing Jazz’s chassis to arch in reaction and then punching him right in one of his healing injuries.

 

In order to avoid more damage, Jazz rolled off the Praxian and scrambled for the dagger still lodged in Prowl’s doorwing. 

 

Prowl was faster, he pulled the dagger out himself with a wet squelch and in a flurry of energon droplets managed tackling Jazz so that now the Polyhexian was pinned to the ground, arms squashed between the floor and the weight of both of their frames.

 

The tactician allowed him a moment to merely study Jazz’s furious faceplates. The energon kept plip-plopping from the injured doorwing and onto the floor and that was the only sound in the entire cell.

 

After a moment that had felt uncomfortably long, Prowl smirked.

 

-”That was painful, though, all things considered, I suppose I owed you one.” 

 

After contemplating Jazz’s face for a moment longer, Prowl frowned as if remembering. 

 

-”How are your optics, Jazz?”

 

The conversational tone annoyed the slag out of Jazz, he grit his denta instead of answering and tried to move his visor out of Prowl’s reach.

 

-”This is new, isn’t it?”

 

Prowl smiled whilst tapping on Jazz’s visor with the tip of the dagger he’d extracted from himself just moments ago, droplets of energon leaving smears on the blue crystal. Jazz became completely still.

 

-”I wonder, is it only decorative?”

 

Prowl proceeded to gently feel and prod around the edges of the visor and Jazz’s attempts to get away were becoming more desperate. He whimpered as the other felt for the latches. 

 

-”No!”

 

Jazz howled, his optic feed cut out, leaving him blind, as the visor was lifted from his now-empty optical sockets, eliciting a soft gasp from Prowl.

 

-”Ah! I see.”

 

Jazz’s protests had reduced to harsh pants, tears of horror pooling in the indented recesses of his face and spilling down his cheeks.

 

-”They could not replace them after all.” Prowl’s tone indicated regret even though Jazz was sure he felt none. He felt the other gently tracing the scarred, somewhat numb protoform under where Jazz’s optics should have been and traced the rim what used to be an optic shutter. -”Poor thing.”

 

Jazz’s frame locked up in fear at the unexpected touch and Prowl used it to pull the mech into a careful embrace that belied their previous interactions.

 

-”Hush now, I was a bit too rough on you last time but I can’t deny that the consequences have left you more beautiful than ever, my Jazz.”

 

After a moment of silence Prowl added.

 

-”There is something I want.”

 

Jazz’s fuel lines turned into ice, he knew Exactly what these words meant and that if he did not comply, he would lose more than his optics this time.

 

-”Please don’t.”

 

Jazz hiccuped and whimpered and despite himself, curled into a tight ball, trying to cover his face.

 

-”Shh, it is not related to our factions, in fact, it is quite personal in nature.”

 

Prowl mused, rubbing Jazz’s audial horn affectionately between his fingers, seemingly heedless of how terrified of him the saboteur was at that moment.

 

-”I have grown to like you quite a lot, Jazz.”

 

Prowl almost whispered the name as if talking to a lover. The frame in his arms tensed significantly, then shuddered, and after a bit, a silly giggle escaped before Jazz could stop it.

 

This was insane, Prowl was insane, Jazz was dead and in some sort of Cybertronian Hell because the ridiculousness of the moment just did not compute.

 

-”Is tha’ a new way o’ torture?”

 

Prowl Actually took a moment to consider this.

 

-”It could be, if you’d be so inclined.”

 

Jazz just burst into uncontrollable laughter, slag him, truly, slag him because he wanted no more part of this clusterfrag. 

 

-”Jus’ offline meh already, mech. Ah can’t take this no mo’.” Jazz said through giggles that were gradually turning into sobs. 

 

Though Jazz stopped immediately when he registered movement about his face; caught in that terror once more only to feel visor click back in place with more care than he wanted to admit and after breem, his optic feed came back on.

 

The closeup of Prowl’s face was the first thing Jazz saw and instinctively he drove back from it.

 

-”I expected our first conversation on this topic to go like this but I do enjoy the sound of your laughter.” 

 

Jazz felt sick to his tanks and internally withered at the implication that More conversations like this were in foreseeable future but perked up when he heard the noises of blaster fire coming closer.

 

-”I will let you contemplate this for a while.” Prowl then stood up and opened a panel on his arm to activate a door built into one of the walls.

 

-”But for now you should join your rescuers.. Oh, one last thing, next time you check your firewalls, do so in private...”

 

Prowl might have said more but Jazz was already out of there and making his way towards the rescue team to help get the rest of his team out.

 

Later that night when Ratchet released him from the medbay, T-cog blissfully unlocked, Jazz ran self-diagnostics on more volatile parts of coding. Doing so in his locked quarters was somewhat safe - getting out required a code as well as getting in and it was generated randomly, based on Jazz’s personality credentials. Hence, if anything happened, he would not be a liability and his mechs had override codes if it came to that. Thus calmed, Jazz started with the work because Prowl tended to leave him little ‘presents’ or tokens of appreciation in shape of puzzles, more often than not - woven with Jazz’s own coding taken from subroutines which were meant to keep him functioning. 

 

This time he stumbled across a patch of rather benign-looking code that just looked corrupted, a typo here, a missing dot there. Suspicious, Jazz started trying to compute the extent of it when he nearly triggered an automatic reconfiguration pattern. This was Prowl’s work. 

 

Jazz tiptoed around the trigger string as if it was a bomb, careful not to initiate anything. 

 

He HAD to get this out of his system. Jazz’s frame started heating up from mental exertion, coolant beading his frame. His cooling fans came online.

 

Suddenly the code recalibrated itself into a small data packet. Jazz didn’t have a moment to do anything about it because it apparently activated on it’s own or rather, Jazz suspected that it was somehow linked with the subroutines of his cooling systems - not the first thing Jazz would go for during his check.

 

_ That damn bastard. _

 

Soon Jazz was glad he had opted for privacy of his quarters and not somewhere public because his sensors were suddenly awash with feelings of touch skittering down his frame. Something that felt suspiciously like a lick slid down the hydraulics of his inner thigh cabling, moving upwards to lave his panel. 

 

_ It’s not there, it’s not real, it is just ghost data. _

 

_ Was it? _

 

A whimper that Jazz recognized to be his own echoed in his chamber as the assault continued. His already heated plating becoming even more so, arching his back, mouth open in a silent scream. 

 

This was not him, the desire was not his, but it slotted oh so well with his coding. He yelped and shivered when what could have been only described as a sensation of an overload assaulted his senses, teasing his own systems to follow suit but failing to do so, leaving Jazz instantaneously revved up with his only option being to just get down to it and finish the business himself.

 

Gritting his denta and using his hands, Jazz did just that and dropped back on his now moist berth, panting in exhaustion. 

 

This was new, scratch that, the majority of sensations Jazz had been exposed to were not Like data transferred from another mech, he would know. 

 

That type of thing felt foreign and regardless of the quality of the data one could always tell a difference between oneself and the other. This felt disturbingly like someone had jacked into Jazz’s own unconscious frame and recorded it from the inside, and… Jazz shuddered.

 

-”I’m gonna  _ kill  _ ya, Prowler.”

 

He murmured to the ceiling of his chamber.

  
  
  



	2. Monsters to kill monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl is captured and Jazz can finally get his revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhoh, uhm, this still lives and it had babies.  
> This may be squicky to some if mind manipulation gives you the heebiejeebies. Also I have no words to properly describe what I have written - other than a mindfuck.

Once out in the open the Decepticon tactician was a much easier target to take down than Jazz had anticipated. It had required some planning on the Autobot part because they did not want the mech offline, not yet anyway. They had worked for weeks with Wheeljack and Ratchet to devise the best way of doing so.

That tactical suite was far too valuable to just destroy but also apparently - very fragile. They speculated that it was a kind of a macabre precaution on Decepticon part. If Prowl Was attacked he would most likely be killed. Hence their lengthy preparations.

They could not use blaster fire and they could not hack him safely on such short notice so Sideswipe suggested a less elegant solution. One controlled hit to the helm that was just strong enough to knock the ‘con unconscious but not outright deactivate him.

Prowl had slumped into the waiting arms of Mirage without as much as a sound.

Now they had him, Jazz was wary. As per protocol they emptied the mech’s subspace. It held nothing of interest - an acid pellet rifle, few rounds of ammunition, a couple of self-maintenance items, first-aid kit; the most interesting item being a smallish lacquered box of human origin. Perceptor had offered opening it in Wheeljack’s workshop AKA a fortified lab environment in case it had explosives or some sort of noxious substances. The box contained neither but of all the items they found in Prowl’s subspace that ended up being the most disturbing one.

Nestled in a silky fabric lining the box, sat two identical metal orbs. A fine network of circuits covered one side while the other side had a pale dull iris.

-”Those are optics.” Perceptor said flatly, mildly perturbed by the meticulous packaging. Wheeljack leant over from his work desk to take a look. -”I can run a scan on who’s CNA they have.”

-”Sure, but I have a pretty good idea on who they belong to.”

Ratchet hummed inspecting the delicate mechanics -”Thing is - given a chance, we could put them back in without fear of rejection. Whether or not his processor will recognize them is a whole other thing but it is doable.”

-”Do we tell Jazz?”

-”Not yet.”

They were all aware that Jazz was getting ready for interrogation. He was nervous; not about who he would meet but about his raction. If anyone asked him if he was compromised, he would say ‘Yes’.

-”You’re compromised,” Voice out of nowhere only to indicate that Mirage had arrived to confront Jazz about what he was going to do anyway. -”Out of all mecha you should be the last one to do this.”

-”Ah know tha’, but ah’m the only one who’s dealt wit’ Prowl before.” JAzz slumped against the wall, deflating slithgly.

-”There are other ways, surely you know.”

-”His processor’ll self-destroy if we do mnemo - a failsafe.”

-”So hacking is our last resort?”

-”Unless we want us a shell wit’ melted processor and a dead Tumbler.”

Silence spanned between the two mechs, it was true that mnemosurgeons offlined young but Eject would never forgive them.

-”What’s your plan then?”

-”He is obsessed enough with me to want ta let me in.” Jazz vented, shuddering slightly at the implications.

-”So what? If he is as skilled as you say he might just trap you inside his own helm and then we’ve lost a good mech.”

-”Raj’, we ain’ xactly winnin’ the war here.” Jazz vented in exasperation, turning to face Mirage. -”Also, ahm no more or less valuable than any other member o’ this crew.”

Left unsaid was the fact that Jazz felt tainted by the mech on a level that he did not want anyone to experience ever.

Mirage leveled him with a stare that implied that Jazz Was in fact more valuable than some other mechs he could think of but did not voice his thoughts.

-”He’ll pull ya to bits before ye reach ‘his firewall.” Jazz finally said and slumped against the wall once more. Reaching out for a cube of coolant.

-”You’ll count as compromised after this mission no matter what the outcome is.” Mirage finally stated.

-”Ah knew ya’d make a great TIC ‘Raj.” Jazz smiled and lifted the cube in a mock-toast.

When Jazz entered the holding cell Prowl lay restrained on a slab. Ports forced open, optics dim, a streak of dried energon on the side of his helm indicated where the blow had connected.

Jazz flexed his new mod - retractable claws and wisely hid them again - not yet.  
Quietly he made his way to leann over the prone chassis. Making sure the light shone just behind him Jazz snapped his fingers in Prowl’s face.

-”Hey there.” He smirked when light returned to those optics.

Prowl reset his visual feed, squinting at the harsh lights. His optics flashed in surprise when he identified who it was that had woken him. Then he smiled.

-”Jazz?” Prowl rasped. -”I’ve been waiting for you.”

It sounded hopeful, as if the mech’s dearest wish had been fulfilled. Jazz’s spark faltered but he quickly overwrote his flight protocols with a dampener - for now his sense of fear and self-preservation would be impeded. It was not the best solution but it was the only one he had for now - also it would wear off if fed enough disturbing stimuli.

Extenally Jazz did not respond to Prowl’s comment and continued to clinically examine his frame for weak points.

-”I brought you a gift but I think you might not have received it yet.”

Jazz’s visor flashed and he pressed a tender spot behind Prowl’s chevron.The decepticon stopped talking immediately and instead refocused on Jazz, his pupils dilating and then narrowing rapidly in what Jazz could only assume was a display of pain.

-”So you will just wear me down.”

Prowl finally concluded with a hint of disappointment. Jazz quirked a rougish grin and leant to be level with Prowl’s faceplate.

-”That’s the plan.” He broached the distance between them and planted a kiss on Prowl’s dermas. -”We can do it the pleasant way or the painful way.”

-”Kiss me again?”

Jazz smirked -”Wrong answer.” Jazz’s claws snicked out of their slots and dug into the underside of Prowl’s jaw. -”Or is it that you get off on pain?” Jazz regarded the mech coolly, feeling the warm energon starting to trickle down his claws.

Prowl smiled once more -”You should know by now, kitten.”

Jazz’s visor flickered. They were wasting time like this, time to change tactics.

-”Very well. How about some music then?”

Jazz drew back and sat across Prowl, turning his speakers on. The subsonic treble was nigh-unnoticeable but this particular pitch was capable of disrupting neural connections for a short while.

This disrupted a processor without offlining the target. It did, however lower their defences for a while and that was all Jazz needed. The telltale flicker of Prowl’s optics was a sure sign that he would soon succumb to the beat.

Once Prowl’s optics went out, Jazz plugged in and accumulated momentum to crash through any defences which might have lingered despite his previous treatment.

There was nothing to oppose him though and he felt himself stumble mentally at the lack of of pushback.

Prowl was letting him inside his processor willingly and with no restraint at all. If Jazz wanted he could wreak havoc in the mech’s systems - there was nothing stopping him.

-”Is the environment to your liking?”

An insubstantial voice of his captive that should not have been there yet; though Jazz would have gone more for ‘Host’, all things considered.

Jazz reminded himself that Prowl was no rookie at mindgames, of course he would not respond in same ways in which an unexperienced mech would.

What he did notice was the distinct feeling of comfort and calm Prowl’s processor was projecting on him. It was like walking through an oil bath where smooth, hot liquid would bathe his seams and lubricate his joints.

-”It has been a long time, Jazz.”

Prowl’s consciousness brushed against Jazz’s firewall like a lover.

-“I am so … happy you chose to do this.”

Jazz bristled slightly - Prowl was not supposed to know that but it was possible that he could have deducted it. Jazz flicked through a couple of memory files at leisure then turned back to business.

-”Would you like a tour?”

-”Show me the tactical plans of your most recent mission.”

Prowl did. The expanse of data spanned in front of Jazz briefly like a field alive with information. It set him in the loop, briefly confusing his processor with its odd likeness to earthen fields. But where each blade of grass was actually a process tree.

Calculations flowed around him like a river.

-”You took all that into account.”

-”The decisive moment of the battle is the planning. There is not much you can do once the mission has begun.” Prowl explained calmly.

Jazz took a string of data and examined it. Probabilities, weighed outcomes, he released the string and look at the other one. He was baffled to have such a cooperative captive. He ran the data across what he knew and verified that it was true.

-”I want the locations of all planned raids.”

-”I hope you understand that the locations will have been shuffled by now.”

-”Give me the probabilities of the shuffle.”

Jazz did not like the amusement he felt radiating from Prowl.

-”I want something in exchange for his. You do not expect me to work for Autobots for free, do you?”

That was a lead, however implausible, but a lead regardless.

-”Would you be inclined to work for the Autobots?” Jazz asked tentatively.

A pause, Jazz felt a sensation of intent slither by his firewall, then tap.

-”Why don’t you lower this and we speak properly?”

-”You are not in a position to demand this.”

-”Merely a suggestion.”

Jazz reinforced his defenses. -”For now planned raids will be enough.”

Flowcharts of system dynamics models appeared before him looping into one another in glittering arches of code. Prowl’s processor was extraordinary. Jazz touched on each source and it revealed more data, more Decepticon plans, more projects and secrets.

Jazz stopped abruptly. He’d been too greedy with the data to notice the setup. Too desperate to provide the Autobots with advantage to notice where the edges of the trap began. He pulled back abruptly and the trigger snapped, capturing him under a heavy stream of data that would eventually melt his processor if he stayed exposed for too long.

Prowl’s processor Was terrifying in it’s power and could literally Kill.

Jazz looked desperately in the stream for an area with less activity but the information followed him suit. He initiated the failsafes to disengage once the pressure was threatening to overclock him and found them jammed. He was unable to move against the flow and stuck under the pressure of the vastness of it.

-”Stop!” Jazz gasped. -”Please stop!”

-”You did not specify the timestamps, dear.” Prowl stated amusedly.

-”Tomorrow. Raids tomorrow!” Jazz gasped as the pressure of information ceased to a trickle of some 15 strands. Jazz took a moment to reiterate the mental pathway he had created for himself to safely maneuver Prowl’s processor; just in case he needed to retreat completely. Then he turned to the data at hand. There was almost nothing, so no raid planned?

-”Show me the next planned raid.”

The 15 strands were joined by about 43 more, each corresponding to the raid party, objective, desired outcome, expected opposition, right down to evnironmental nuances, all encrypted.

-”Unlock them.”

Prowl did, though this time Jazz hesitated to take a plunge, wary of what Prowl would do if he gave him half the chance. Instead Jazz let out a string that allowed him to mirror the data and copy it safely to his banks.

Something eerily similar to fondness and longing crept along the outer edge of Jazz’s firewall.

-”When will you allow me inside you?”

-”Never again if I can help it.”

-”You’re being unfair, dear, when I have welcomed you so openly.”

-”That was your choice.” Jazz muttered matter of factly.

-”Oh Jazz.” A sigh, the presence just outside his firewall receded. The area became eerily devoid of data and it took Jazz a moment to realize that his firewall was starting to buckle under the strain of something that was not data.

Wary, he withdrew and retreated through the safe path he had established for himself in Prow’s processor only to realize that the path itself was giving in, crumbling before him and cutting off exit.

Mirage’s words came true, now Jazz was trapped inside Prow’s processor. Though, with a bit of maneuvering he could extend his firewall and use anchors and backtrack to the entry. He tried doing just that when his firewall did not so much crumble as vanish. Jazz struggled to call back the wall separating his mind from Prowl’s but his efforts flowed between his fingers like chunks of icomplete data.

Jazz scrambled to erect another mental wall and it crumbled the same way.

-”Don’t.”

 _You will tear me apart_. Jazz’s thoughts were starting to bleed into Prowl’s mind unbriddled and had he not had the flight blockers on he might have panicked.

-”Have I ever?”

 _You will torture me again!_ And at that very moment Jazz’s sensornet was flooded by a presence of another. He felt what constituted Prowl flowing between his own codelines seamlessly, rooting him to the spot, preventing safe exit through anchors.

-”And now how could I without harming myself in the process?”

The intimacy was damning, Jazz had never felt so exposed and had never encountered a mech who could Do that to begin with, apart from himself, that is.

Distantly Jazz recognized his frame pinging him about heating up, he ignored it.

-”Do you enjoy this? Me being inside you?”

-”What are you?”

-”Right now, I am your lover.”

This was it, Jazz’s dampeners could not hold anymore, fear bloomed inside him. The other presence hummed alongside him in pleasure. He tried hard extricating himself from the snare but it only pulled him deeper, Into Prowl himself the more he flailed.

Jazz stilled. He had to think clearly, if not, Prowl would absorb him.

-”So this is how you got your processing power huh?”

Prowl’s amusement resonated through jazz, tendrils of code constricting slightly around Jazz’s very being and pulsing a low charge.

-”How many have you….uh.” A tendril worked itself deeper and slotted into Jazz’s coding with a pleasurable familiarity.

-”Has it not struck you as odd that most mecha that returned from my interrogations were no more than husks?” Prowl revealed lists of designations - Autobot and Decepticon alike scrolling before Jazz.

-“Straight out killing them would have been kinder.” Jazz hissed outraged.

-“Really Jazz, you should know better- you did the same.”

-“I did not absorb them!” Their conversation had loosened Prowl’s grip on Jazz and he was slowly moving backwards out of Prowl’’s mind.

-“Your loss, dear. Now indulge me.”

Prowl pounced while Jazz retreated, chasing him all the way up through the hardline and into Jazz’s processor. The saboteur had been prepared for this - the Praxian was not greeted kindly. Despite this Jazz realized he was fighting a losing battle. Meshing with Prowl without protection meant bringing bits of code from the other’s processor into his own. Prowl’s coding that remained in Jazz worked to undo his defences from within.

Prowl tore through Jazz’s restraints in a swift push that Jazz only belatedly noticed the sting. In some macabre way the act was reminiscent of taking one’s seals.

_I’m honoured you would consider me your first, Jazz._

Red flags and breach alerts popped up in Prowl’s wake, soon overwhelmed and dampened by the deluge of intel that followed him. Now Prowl was IN Jazz’s head, quite literally.

 _Don’t hide, I’ll play with you gently_.

Jazz retreated to the recesses of processor which were still his and Prowl paused there. If he went any further there would be no Jazz.

_I’ll give you a choice to come to me or perish. I’ll enjoy it either way._

Jazz thought back to the mecha they got in prisoner exchanges. Optics alight with a dull glow, no processor fluctuations, no sense of self remained. It was as if a mnemosurgeon had had a field day with them and turned their processors to mush.

This was the worst outcome.

Jazz made a decision, it raked at his spark but he was not ready to perish yet. Hesitantly he extended a tendril of data towards Prowl, for their systems to exchange handshakes. Once that was done and Jazz’s mods no longer treated Prowl as an enemy all Jazz could do was brace himself.

Prowl came to Jazz in a gentle wave, gradually seeping into his very being, wrapping around every codeline. They were no longer separate minds, Jazz’s thoughts were not his alone. Prowl was in, around, and through him - one being molded of savage longing and fierce devotion, conflicting and crackling with charge.

 _I finally have my counterpart after so long_.

Sensing Jazz’s hesitation, Prowl stroked his being.

 _Allow me to properly indulge you_.

Charge steadily flowed through Jazz in an embrace he did not welcome but could not refute.

_Don’t resist_

And Jazz allowed it.

Prowl treated him with care. Carefully teasing out his charge and amplifying it, toying with Jazz’s senses in ways which were familiar and unthreatening yet laced with an edge of desire that could potentially drown him.

_I wish I still had my original frame to fully worship you._

Jazz only had a moment to contemplate this until his senses were swept away by pleasure and then - a blistering overload.

He whited out and came to his senses on the floor of the interrogation suite, cables still connected. The vertigo of suddenly being deposited alone in his frame made him purge his tanks soon after.

As for Prowl…

Jazz glanced at the other mech who had not yet moved on the interrogation slab. Sometimes after an intense experience the frame did not respond to stimuli well. And their clash or rather Jazz’s messing up left him incapacitated. Though if Prowl had won this altercation then why was it that Jazz was the conscious one?

Did he?

-“Prowl?”

One look at the limp frame and Jazz gasped. Prowl was online alright but…. Optics pale and unseeing stared ahead of themselves onto the ceiling. Just like his own victims. Prowl was gone.

They had not unplugged yet so Jazz braced himself for another plunge and delved back in Prowl’s processor. It was a bad idea to do it again so soon but he had to be sure.

Already the line felt different - cold somehow, devoid of any presence or stray thought process circuits. Jazz felt emptiness, saw no intricate process trees, no rivers of data, just the Vast, uninhabited expanse of nothing.

Jazz retreated so quickly that if there had been anything left in his tanks he would have purged again.

_I did that_

Jazz though with horror. He knew he could - the possibility always teetered on the edge of his processor but he never did. _Almost_ never and certainly not in this setting.

Mortified about his lack of restraint he pinged Mirage.

-“‘Raj, when ya got a moment. Ah think ah messed up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This grew into a concept.  
> Thank you for reading and stayng with me through this!


	3. New hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz confesses to Mirage and that leads him to new revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness. This little plot bunny just won't leave me.

Jazz had expected repercussions for his failing but somehow the mecha were more understanding of his position than he thought he deserved.

It had been self defense, an outcome like this had always been a possibility, they said.

Better Prowl than Jazz.

 

And Jazz for his part wished that he could convince himself to believe it. But a sense of failure still grated him. He had technically offlined the head tactician of the opposing faction, lost a bargaining chip to get their prisoners back.

 

In fact he didn’t even want to think about what fate awaited the prisoners which the Decepticons had managed keeping online until then.

 

Though it was increasingly more difficult to blame himself when with Prowl gone… they were gaining advantage.

 

Despite losing any trace of the head tactician’s programming Jazz had, somehow, retained majority of Prowl’s databank information and they were using it to further their success. Prowl’s advanced tactical suite had survived and could be used on another mech if a suitable volunteer appeared.

 

All in all very few if any mecha held what he had done against him, even fewer questioned it. The sense of relief settled on him like sweet rust.

 

It set his processor at piece and he wanted none of it. Prowl might have been gone from their physical plane but he increasingly appeared in Jazz’s recharge. Vivid memory purges left Jazz panting in the middle of his off-cycle. Then he would wander to his office and start working. Crunching numbers for their missions, evaluating the odds, drawing on the vast data banks which he sensed Prowl had intentionally left him with.

 

But like with most Prowl-related things, Jazz could not shake off the feeling that there was a catch.

 

-“Ahem.”

 

A soft clearing of intake made Jazz glance up.

 

-“‘Raj?”

 

-“Not like you to be up this late.”

 

-“Ah know ah’m still compromised according to ya.”

 

-“Yes you are and this strange, new pattern does not work in your favor.”

 

Jazz vented. -“Ah literally ate a mech’s mind ‘Raj. That sorta thing ya don’t jus’ shrug off.”

 

-“About that, I left it out of my report for now. I want you to explain this to me first.”

 

Visor dim, Jazz vented. How did one even begin to explain this?

 

-“Don’ expect meh ta have a definition for ya. Ah have not met another mech who could do that; save for Prowl here.”

 

-“Remind me not to hardline with you when you’re in a bad mood. So this is not a mod?”

 

-“Got sparked glitchy.” Jazz chuckled humorlessly. “ Though Ah can see how assimilating thought processes and memory banks of other mecha could totally be a mod. That kind of mod Shockwave would make.”

 

-“So... when this happens - is it reversible?”

 

-“Ah ‘ave never succeeded. Ahm better at leaving behind what ya see in the permanent patient section of the medbay. Though normally ah don’t do that. Jus’ not mah thing.”

 

Mirage was deep in thought for a moment.

 

-“And you say that Prowl could have done the same to you?”

 

-“Ta be honest ah dunno how ahm still ‘ere. He was more experienced in that sort of thing.” Jazz felt somewhat relieved sharing this with someone.

 

Mirage suppressed something that Jazz suspected was a triade about him being reckless and taking on more than he could but thankfully the noble composed himself with a huff. -“This also explains why Prowl was so well-informed and why you are so knowledgeable about Decepticon matters now.”

 

-“Ey, not like ah was bad before!” Jazz swatted at his companion playfully to alleviate the mood.

 

Mirage was pensive for a moment.

 

-“In which instances have you done it?”

 

Jazz bit his lip.

 

-“Sensitive subject?”

 

-“Ya asked and ya deserve ta know.” Jazz vented and steepled his fingers. -“First time ‘t was wit mah first lova. Ah didna know what ah was doin’. Thought they ‘ad a good time, then, when we disconnected - dead optics.” Jazz vented, rubbing his visor. -“Liked him, too.”

 

Mirage chose not to comment on that and let Jazz continue.

 

-“Ah hardly did hardline again after that. Ah admit ah practiced somewhat wit’ our captives during interrogation - safer that way.” Jazz chucked humorlessly.  -“Ah know ‘t is unethical as slag. If that helps, ah never slipped up wit’ them… ‘till now.”

 

-“Have you done it intentionally?”

 

-“Twice, Deep mission to Altihex - A con’-sympathizing neutral; Iacon - an Autobot.”

 

-“Why the Autobot?”

 

Jazz rubbed his forearm and mumbled. -“Forced hardline.”

 

-“Let me get this straight. He forced a hardline on you and you wiped his processor.”

 

Jazz nodded, not daring to look Mirage in the optics.

 

-“He deserved it.” The other stated after a moment. -“Same goes for Prowl.”

 

-“Thank you ‘Raj.” Jazz slumped with gratitude. -“Ya should include this in your report though. Mecha deserve ta know.”

 

-“Only the Prime and Ratchet.” Mirage amended. -“I will leave the final decision up to them but if it was up to me personally - I believe you should be able to manage yourself without alerting the rest of the crew.”

 

Before Jazz could interject, Mirage lifted the index finger to shush him.

 

-“By the way - I would like to see that report you’ve been working at and you are still not cleared for field.”

 

-”Aye, captn’.”

  


The conversation with Mirage set Jazz at ease. He closed his work station and headed to his hab suite, finally ready to get some rest.

 

Something in what Mirage had said niggled at him though. He stopped before punching in his access code and turned to move towards the medbay instead.

 

The way how easily Mirage had accepted his ‘ability’ left Jazz a little bolder in exploring the edges of it. He was familiar with how processors were after he had consumed them but he had never seen a work of another. Visiting Prowl’s victims might be the best chance at understanding himself Jazz had.

 

One little part of his processor hoped that perhaps, if he had retained as many of Prowl’s data banks as he thought, maybe he could somehow restore his victims as well.

 

Armed with this new conviction, Jazz opened the door to the medbay. Ratchet was conveniently in his office and Jazz had enough skill to creep past the medic without alerting, no, disturbing him, Jazz amended in his mind.

 

The permanent patient suite was small, illuminated by the light of the dim optics of the patients who did not have the processor to offline them.

 

Jazz came to the first patient, it was Skids, he used to be a good mech, they had hardlined. Jazz remembered how his processor used to look like. There was no better test subject.

 

Carefully Jazz unspooled his cable and plugged into the mech’s medical port. It was like taking a plunge in cold water - coldness and emptiness enveloped Jazz. There was not a flicker of sense of self there. Where could he even begin? What should he begin with?

 

Jazz raked his and by extension Prowl’s databanks to look for anything with and about Skids. The image was evasive, had it truly been that long since Skids’s unfeeling frame had been returned to them?

 

His firewall was still aching from his altercation with Prowl and Jazz was wary about any ‘presents’ Prowl might have left behind for hapless mnemosurgeons to find. He glanced at his internal chronometer, it was taking too long, no wonder Prowl had his tactical suite to deal with all this data. Without it, Jazz would be stuck here for ages.

 

_There’s a catch_

 

Jazz froze. What Was he doing? Why was he here in the middle of the night without Informing Ratchet about what he was about to do to His patient who had no way of giving consent.

 

Jazz quickly retreated, closing Skids’s medical port, wincing slightly when he encountered a weak processor charge at the edge of Skids’s line. Probably static accumulated from disuse. Which pressed much more why Jazz should not be here, should not be doing this before Optimus or Ratchet even knew about what he could do.

 

Next morning Jazz was woken up by a clang, sirens and joyful swearing?

Curious, Jazz dragged himself out of his berth and made it no further than a floor. Why was he so exhausted? His tanks pinged him insistently about the dropping fuel levels as he managed righting himself by bracing against the edge of the berth. His frame and processor were still recuperating, no wonder he needed more fuel than usual.

 

Swaying unsteadily, he made his way to medbay. Ironhide stood guard with Mirage, Optimus was there too.

 

-“Wha’ happened?”

 

Jazz elected to ignore the look of concern Mirage gave him and instead looked at Ironhide.

 

-“We are about to find out.”

 

Optimus and Ratchet exited a medbay and spoke briefly with Mirage and Ironhide. Their conversation should have mattered if not for blaring warnings about low fuel levels in Jazz’s visual feed. He just ignored them, content with finding out bit more before refueling.

 

Ratchet seemed unusually content, he approached Jazz and took him by the shoulder struts.

 

-“Skids is showing some processor activity!”

 

Jazz froze - there had been nothing the night before. He had been certain there was nothing. This was wrong, Ratchet was telling him something, then something else, his faceplate changing from contentment to concern.

 

Jazz did not feel his peds give out and Ratchet still had him by the shoulders, which slowed his fall. Ratchet's smile was lovely though, a shame he smiled so rarely.

 

He woke in medbay, luckily not in the permanent section, an energon drip affixed to his arm and a note stuck to it in Ratchet’s handwriting.

 

~ _Remove it and I’ll personally feed you to scraplets.~_

 

Jazz chuckled and made sure not to disrupt the line. There was someone else with him in the bay - just several berths from where Jazz lay himself. This was unusual, had they had an armed confrontation after Jazz had passed out or was it just one of the mechs being an dumb aft again?

 

Carefully he leant over and craned his helm as much as he could. Blue chassis, optics offline, but the shape of that helm ...it was Skids! His frame must have been moved from the permanent containment to the active part of the infirmary. But that meant?

 

Jazz glanced the cerebral monitor attached to Skids's helm; it showed low but steady activity, spark and processor slowly but steadily syncing up.

 

The fuel ran cold in Jazz's pipes - was this truly Skids, of was it something else completely?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there is only a couple of chapters left.


	4. Lurking in shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well this came long and hard. Ahem, khem, innuendo.

Jazz floated in a space out of time and any kind of reality he was familiar with. Coupled in pairs, a sea of pale blue-gray dots shone above him. Their reflections coloured the flat planes of his plating in a shade dearly grey. Those were optics, he realized - unnerving in appearance and near-familiar stillness. Mindless optics of mechs who's self was gone, and those optics were trained on him.

 

He startled when something brushed against his armor then grabbed at him, a hand, hands - he realised. Numerous and ownerless, they emerged from the inky darkness to clutch at his plating to keep him in place. No - to pull him under, whatever this 'under' was. He felt himself start to submerge in the black ink of the dissolving substance that was the not-light of this plane.

 

This was too much. An edge of his processor told him it was another recharge flux and Jazz moved his frame this way and that until the sudden feeling of falling knocked him online.

 

Jazz scrambled from the floor and threw himself into the corner of his habsuite, lodging his back in the vedge between the two walls. He pointed energon daggers at his non-existent assailants. His vents hissed, gulping the blistering air of his dwelling - heated by his own feverish frame.

 

-”Ya ain’t there!”

 

Jazz whispered to himself still regarding the darkness with suspicion, straining his visor to detect any sort of movement.

 

-”Ya ain’t there...”

 

He repeated like a mantra until his processor calmed and his vents evened out. Every ops agent had a tick or a quirk, as they called it. Suffering from fluxes for Jazz had started shortly after his life or death round with Prowl. But unlike other ops his fluxes were becoming more intense as time passed.

 

It was one of the reasons Mirage still held him off field duty. However, almost to compensate for that - Jazz’s planning output had increased to levels that started physically taxing his frame. His energon needs had doubled so that now they were on par with a tankformer bot such as Ironhide.

 

Once calmed, Jazz vented last time and stood up from his corner. He sluggishly pawed at the door controls - he needed to get the temperature of his frame down. In the corridor his frame swayed slightly, Jazz leant against the wall, suddenly weak and checked his fuel levels.

 

…5%?!

 

Jazz tapped at the side of his visor to see if his overhead malfunctioned but the readout remained unchanged. He rubbed his helm, he really needed to talk to Ratchet about what was happening to him. It would not do good to collapse in stasis on enemy turf.

 

A feeling of being watched pulled him out of his reverie. Jazz whipped about sharply to face an empty, dark hallway and a surveillance camera that was trained on him. Red Alert must have been up on shift. Jazz made a ‘V’ shape with his fingers and touched them to his visor to then direct the same gesture at the camera as in saying - “I know you are watching me.”

 

With no desire to return to his quarters, Jazz went for the mess hall to get some energon. There, under a solitary lamp sat Smokescreen, engulfed by his own thoughts. Jazz elected to softly announce his presence.

 

-"Space for one more?"

 

The praxian startled a little, doorwings doing most of the startle-motion.

 

-"Hum..."

 

The dark hours were the time when the masks went off. When the guise of everyday normalcy kept up for other's sake was allowed to slip. Respecting the mech's grievances was an unspoken rule that was rigorously respected.

 

Jazz poured himself a cube, then thought better of it and poured another.

 

-"Decided ta start th' day early."

 

-"Same here."

 

Jazz finished his cubes in silence and Smokescreen did not comment on it or acknowledge him until the saboteur was about to get up. 

 

-"Think others would come back?"

 

Jazz almost tripped and did a double-take on the praxian. 

 

-"Like Skids." Smokescreen elaborated, directing his gaze at his half-finished cube.

 

Jazz elected for initiating physical contact and set a hand on Smokescreen's shoulder.

 

-"Don't dwell on it mech, that ain't under our control. Ya stayin' up late ain't gonna make a difference."

 

-"You were in his processor. Was there anything, you know...Any traces of who he'd taken?"

 

Jazz gulped, nobody had confronted him about this detail until now. Truth was - he hadn't. But then again the way he conducted mental investiations was not a way it was normally done. Jazz did not know if under those standard circumstances what Smokescreen was asking even was possible. Should he have searched? Would he have found something? Did it matter now?

 

-"Ta be honest, no, ah did not see anythin' that ah could identify as traces of anyone."

 

Smokescreen just nodded in assent and let Jazz leave. The praxian did not move however, remaining a lonely figure under a lamp in an otherwise empty mess hall.

 

This had Jazz worried, of course, almost half the crew had someone they cared about in the permanent ward. There must have been someone Smokes missed as well. He could only imagine how others felt about the new turn of the events - the hope and the resurfacing of long-burried pain or guilt, in Jazz's case.

 

He headed to the shooting range to focus on something else for a change. Today, in their scheduled meeting, he would come clean about what he was and what he had done. Not an easy feat considering how long he kept his skill secret and how many lies he'd had to conjure to keep it that way. The only thing that calmed him was that he had Mirage’s full support.

 

Hours later it was with that thought that he entered the meeting room. The rest of the brass were already there. Optimus, Ratchet, Wheeljack and Perceptor. Ironhide ushered Jazz inside and closed the door behind. Mirage materialized beside him as the meeting began.

 

Confessions would come later but first things first - Jazz’s slipup with Prowl had landed them with a lap-full of wonderful tactical suite that remained in the mech’s processor. It only needed to be activated and this job was best left to their science team.

 

-”There is no way of knowing if the suite will survive the transplantation or if it will be accepted by the volunteer mech’s systems. There is too little information and we have no data to compare the results to.” Perceptor explained.

 

-”Also, no room for error and no material to experiment with - it is one of a kind as far as we know.” Wheeljack added -”Was experimental to begin with - that Prowl survived the process was a miracle in its own right.”

 

-”Probably why he was so fragged-up, too.” Jazz caught Ratchet grumble under his breath.

 

-"So we came up with a workaround."

 

Jazz twitched. Perceptor and Wheeljack exchanged glances and hesitated before continuing. -”We made this AI, we could install it in his processor and make it run the probabilities for us.”

 

-"How will we know if it is not rigged to put us at a disadvantage?" Ironhide put forward immediately.

 

-"Because that system is transparent - both data input format, processing and output are transparent. Moreover the requirements of running such a system are already high enough without adding the element of randomness to it." Perceptor elaborated.

 

-"It can't lie because it does all the computations before you - just like a computer.” Wheeljack elaborated.

 

There was a pregnant pause at the table and that was when Optimus chose to speak up.

-"Are you certain this is a wise course of action to take? Certainly Prowl was an enemy many of us are glad to see gone. Yet we cannot let war take away how we treat the chassis of fallen mecha.”

 

Autobots did not desecrate offlined bodies. Not even bodies of very hated enemy mechs.

 

-”Technically his chassis is functional - just his processor is blank.” Ratchet amended.

 

Optimus frowned -”Like that of the mechs we have in our permanent ward."

 

Ratchet shook his helm with a huff -”Yes but I am not putting him in the same ward as our mechs.”

 

Optimus did not comment on that but elected a different route. -”Which brings me to the subject of recuperation What is the likelihood of him regaining himself?”

 

Jazz averted his gaze from Optimus and directed his gaze at the meeting table, this was as good an opening as any. -”Not known but also not likely.”

 

Now everyone focused their attention on him. Jazz vented, feeling his spark spin faster in his chassis.

 

-”Could you elaborate?” Optimus, the always polite, kind Optimus….

 

Jazz snorted and told them, flat out and bluntly - everything that lead them to having Prowl’s tactical suite.

 

-”Jazz,” Optimus stated gravely -”I only wish you had felt safe enough with us to reveal your ability earlier. However we do have the case of Skids. If for any reason your assessment is incorrect and if Skids does come back, should we use Prowl’s chassis at all?”

 

All Jazz could do was give their Prime a guilty look. He had not even confessed his most recent crime yet. Though in his own way Ratchet beat him to it.

 

-”If you know how this works and your abilities are similar to Prowl’s, do you think you could make an assessment on Skids’s condition and the rest of the permanent patients?”

 

-”’Bout that…” Jazz rubbed the back of his helm.

 

Ratchet narrowed his optics. -”Should I assume that you conducted an investigation on one of my patients already?”

 

-”Heh, eh. Ratch’, please don’kill meh too much.”

 

Jazz was out of his seat in an instant, dodging and angry grab from their resident Chief Medic. He was lucky to be a speed model because medics could be outright Nasty when it came to protecting interest of their patients, sentient or otherwise.

 

The distance he put between them - which was approximately the width of their meeting table - did not save Jazz or the rest of the attendants from the barrage of well-aimed tools and bobs that Ratchet carried in his subspace. Jazz nearly missed a stethoscope only to be hit square in the faceplates by a data pad.

 

Finally Ironhide, apprehended the fuming CMO.

 

-”Mech, ah’m sorry!” Jazz held his servos above his helm as a sign of surrender.

 

-”I’ll show you, sorry!” Ratchet had extricated one of his arms from Ironhide’s grasp and pointed at Jazz accusingly.

 

-”Ah needed ta know.”

 

-”What you Needed to do was to consult me first! This is not your life we’re discussing here!”

 

Prime’s voice boomed over the ruckus. -”Jazz, Ratchet, Please sit down and explain the rest of us what has taken over you.”

 

Ratchet huffed something that sounded very much like ‘Fine’ and gestured to Jazz to pick up where they had left off.

 

¬¬¬¬

 

Later, in the brig, Mirage thoroughly addressed Jazz’s life choices. From the least important to the most damning one.

 

-”Couldn’t you just lie?”

 

-”Ratch would’ave figured this out himself. Now that his focus is on Skids, moreover when he wakes up…”

 

-”I hope you mean If he wakes up.” Mirage intercepted. -”If you say there was nothing in his processor when you went in, then what resides in his helm now?”

 

Jazz rubbed his helm and vented. He had a theory…

 

-”Raj, whatever happens, don’t interface wit’ him, data or otherwise, warn the Ops about the same, tell Ratchet.”

 

Mirage narrowed his optics, -”Don’t tell me that Prowl gave you a virus that you passed on to Skids.”

 

Jazz shook his helm. -”Not a virus, slag, ah don’t even know if it is possible but I have a feeling that Prowl is not completely gone. A mech like him would not just disappear into some rookie’s mind. Jus’ promise me that Skids will be quarantined.”

 

Mirage nodded and disappeared.

 

Next day Jazz woke up to sound of shots and aftershocks of explosions. Their base was under attack and all he could do was track the time. Even stuck in the brig he knew that the battle was drawing out into a more lengthy sort of trench-fight which was likely to result in heavy damage and losses. Decepticons did not have Prowl but Autobots did not have Jazz on field and he usually was the decisive factor.

 

The sudden contact with his armor made him startle and stab the air above where the grip was. The jab did not connect - Mirage had expected that reaction.

 

-”Come.”

 

Jazz was yanked out of the brig and into the halls by an invisible hand.

 

-”No briefin’?”

 

-”We need you out there.” Mirage hissed as he pulled Jazz through their base. Both being rendered invisible by Mirage’s mod, they advanced to the battlefront without much obstruction. Apart from a couple of slumped frames.

 

-”Looks bad.”

 

Jazz noted as they passed a heavily injured Smokescreen who was being attended by First Aid.

 

-”They were fools to leave you locked.” Mirage grumbled as they advanced through the rubble.

 

The sounds of shots were louder here, though not fired as often as Jazz was used to. Both sides were getting tired but neither could do the final push.

 

-”Thanks ‘Raj, we split ‘ere, will see ya after this.”

 

Mirage let go of Jazz when they were behind a sheltered alcove. The spy moved on to another position, leaving Jazz in field by himself.

 

Jazz took a cursory look around and noticed a staggering difference between how Decepticons used to attack and how they attacked now. With Prowl gone, they were being lead by Soundwave. He was not bad - aided by several viewpoints his cassettes provided but he was no Prowl and it showed. The forces were scattered around battlefield, there was no coordinated movement to actualy create pressure. Just random scattered spots of sniper fire.

 

The biggest problem was probably Sounwave himself. The large carrier moved through the field, methodically silencing a trapped enemy. Jazz pressed his frame close to the ground, trying to conceal his presence. Suddenly his overhead display opened on its' own accord, startling him into a muffled yelp. Graphs appeared with running data showing more intel on the Decepticon forces than Jazz should have justifiably had.

 

Gentle reverbations through the ground alerted Jazz that he’d just given away his position and Soundwave was approaching. The saboteur jumped and skidded to the side just outside the edge of where Soundwave’s telepathy could reach. The carrier now had a visual of him and moved in pursuit but to no avail. Jazz saw exactly the hit and explosive range of that concussion cannon - delineated in graphs and glowing polygons on his visor, showing exactly where the edge of the safe area was.

 

Jazz danced his way through the battlefield to where Optimus and Megatron were locked in battle. The charging speed of Megatron’s fusion cannon suddenly popped up in his field of vision. Without missing an astrosecond Jazz dashed towards where the two were and kicked the cannon just so that Optimus was out of the way of what should have been a lethal shot. It was as if he had an invisible ally built into his visor.

 

By the time Jazz’s fuel levels started dropping into red, Thundercracker was down, Soundwave - injured, one of his cassettes in critical state. They fought off the Decepticons that day but the troops had suffered heavily. Ratchet was likely to be busy in medbay for a while now but it was not as if he hadn’t missed Jazz’s miraculous appearance.

Jazz was helping the injured towards the medbay, ignoring the pangs of his own frame that had not been made to process hard calculations.

 

-”Ratch!” Jazz called out to the medic already scanning the injured Sunstreaker.

 

-”I don’t know who let you out but right now I have even less desire to talk to you than usual.”

 

-”Mech, ah get that. But ya need ta…” Jazz ignored Ratchet’s attempt to wave him off and continued. -”’S about Skids, don’t interface with him.”

 

-”I will not discuss differences between interfacing ethics and medical examination with you now Jazz. Help those who need lighter patching up will you?”

 

-”Ah’ll help ya.  But ya or anyone else for tha' matter Can’t, under any circumstances, hardline with Skids.”

 

-”Why is that?”

 

-”Because ah’ve got a bad feeling.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and sticking around!


	5. Hello Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to polish and I bet it still confuses the hell out of people.  
> Have fun!

 

Begrudgingly, Jazz was included in the next post-fight superiors meeting, mostly because there were questions which needed answering and he was the only one who had at least some idea.

 

Ratchet had this eerie pale-opticked look that Jazz interpreted as having done too much work in too little time. The poor medic was so exhausted that he did not even muster up a scornful frown in Jazz’s direction. The saboteur turned to look at the medic’s assistant and First Aid was unusually contemplative as well.

 

The meeting room normally was not a somber place but the empty seats of their lost or injured teammates underscored the toll the most recent fight had taken. Ironhide had insisted participating despite still wearing a brace that essentially held his internals inside his frame.

 

Even Optimus and Mirage still had reconstructive patches on. With his few minor injuries and a score of scratches Jazz felt very much out of place.

 

They were now discussing a new defense strategy. The fight had taken a toll on both sides but seeing how desperate the Decepticons were they were anticipating an attack any moment now.

 

This had brought up the solution Perceptor and Wheeljack had suggested up earlier. The solution involving the tactical suite remaining in Prowl’s processor.

 

Ironhide was very much in favor of this. -“We lost and decommissioned far too many bots in the last fight. We either take what is offered to us or we will not last much longer.”

 

Optimus vented - even his presence on the battlefield had not changed the outcome by much.

 

-“We are still uncertain if this Tactical System is reliable.” Their leader then looked towards Ratchet. The medic was pensive and silent for a moment, contemplating his hands, now thankfully energon-free. When he chose to speak however, he sounded hollow.

 

-”We do not have many soldiers left Optimus. The ones we do have are in no state to fight any time soon.”

 

Heavy silence settled on them all. Their Prime stood up and took a sweeping look around the room, the empty seats, his injured crew, his downtrodden medic.

 

-”What needs to be done?”

Perceptor and Wheeljack glanced at each other and Perceptor began.

 

-”The AI seems stable from the test runs and it gives true assessments on simple tasks so we hope to gradually escalate those to something more complex. But for now we do not give it much intel to play around with.”

 

-”Also.” Wheeljack continued -”For it to run we would need someone to operate it.”

 

Silence settled again, nobody was comfortable with the idea of operating a certain part of a processor of an unconscious mech.

 

-”If that is the necessary action, I will not have anyone else take that blame. I will do it.” Optimus rumbled.

 

-“Actually we thought that the best option would be Jazz.” Perceptor amended with an apologetic look towards Optimus.

 

Jazz almost fell out of his chair. -“Whadya mean when ya say ‘operate’?”

 

-”Without databanks a tactical suite is only a powerful computer with no data and variables to process.” Wheeljack explained.

 

-“Since you inherited a large amount of intel from Prowl’s databanks we thought you to be the natural choice.”

 

Jazz suppressed a wince; their argument had merit, even if he did not like it. His silence on the matter was telling enough.

 

-“Jazz, this will always be your last call.” Optimus assured. -”We do not expect you to do this, considering what Prowl…”

 

Jazz grit his denta together, zoning out the rest the mech was about to say. It was not like they Had a choice even if Optimus was willing to give him one.

 

-“Ah’ll do it.”

 

….

 

Entering the room where Prowl’s chassis was stored felt odd. Since Prowl was still technically their prisoner he had to be placed in a safe location. Since he was processor-dead he also counted as a patient. In the end they had cobbled together a room that was a strange mishmash of a medical facility and a brig.

 

Prowl lay on a slab, restraints in place around his arms and legs. Even the room itself was reinforced just in case the mech was not as processor-dead as he appeared.

Someone had bothered putting an opaque visor on his optics to conceal the dim glow of an eviscerated mind. A mind Jazz recalled battling not so long ago. Tubes and wires were attached to his frame. Prowl’s processor was linked to a separate-standing computer of human build and screen by means of long, thin wires. Jazz had insisted that they do not, under any circumstances link him to the mainframe.

  


Perceptor indicated for Jazz to take a seat next to the slab on which the Praxian lay and left Jazz to his own devices, he had instructions, there was no need to endanger anyone else for this.

 

Yet, staying in a quiet room like this felt strange as well, so Jazz opted for a one-sided conversation.

 

-“Looks like ya will be an Autobot hero after all.”

 

Jazz took his own data cable and plugged it into the computer as well - to serve as a source of data for the tactical suite to draw information from.

 

A soft hum behind him indicated that Prowl’s systems were booting up as. There was a trickle coming from the energon lines connected to Prowl’s body - supporting it while the tactical suite functioned. An involuntary shiver ran through Jazz, he glanced over to Prowl’s prone figure a couple of times to make sure the mech was where he had been left.

 

A moment later it looked like the AI Wheeljack and Perceptor had implanted in Prowl’s cavernous mind had come online.

 

A cursor blinked on the dark screen, then started typing.

 

 

  * __Hello, Jazz.__



 

 

Jazz’ jumped out of his seat and was undecided if he should point a dagger at the screen or at Prowl and settled for holding them both at knife-point. In the meantime he was pinging insistently to Perceptor.

 

::The frag!? It just spoke to meh!::

 

::It’s a standard greeting. Since you asked for an unrelated computer we appropriated some of the newer versions of human tech.::

 

::Why’s it know my name?::

 

::It’s automatic personalization, something humans seem to be fond of? It is a part of the process::

 

Jazz calmed and looked back at the display - nothing else appeared or was being typed. For now appeased, Jazz settled and typed.

 

~ _Initiate battlefield_ ~

 

The cursor blinked and a few tense moments later, the white text popped on the screen.

 

~ _Data download pending. Insufficient variables of ф and п type_ ~

 

Jazz picked up on it being data about weather and time of the day. He groaned and typed again, this time getting another error message about a command of unknown origin that he later identified as a typo.

 

-”Frag me.” Jazz muttered to himself while leaning back in the chair and staring angrily at the screen that refused doing what he wanted. Couldn’t ‘Jack and Perce make this slightly less frustrating?

 

Finally, after several explanations about how human tech had to be adapted to Cybertronian tech so that any data exchange was possible, Jazz finally started getting the gist of it. By the end of his shift it looked like the most of things were  inserted properly. Jazz linked up his databanks to the processing function he’d just completed and sent command to “Execute”.

 

The moment he hit the button a splitting helmache hit his processors while a wall of red error messages cascaded on his overhead.

 

Slag, slag damnit. Jazz grasped for the keyboard, hitting buttons at random to..

 

-”MAKE IT STOP!”

 

It didn’t, however, and soon Jazz howled, feeling the data forcefully ripped out of his processor. He should have whited out from the experience but something held him online, forcing his processor to remain active during the procedure.

 

Jazz’s systems instinctively reacted to the onslaught and treated it as a physical threat. Daggers unsubspaced and subspaced in a loop, cutting Jazz himself in process, his visor went technicolor, frizzed and gave out. Blindly Jazz grappled about himself, energon dripping from cuts and making his hands slippery, his now-extended clawed servos catching on wires.

 

Wires! Of course!

 

Jazz felt for where the connectors were in his helm and yanked at the cables. The charge in them was so high from the information transit that tiny arches of electricity zapped between the connectors as they separated from the ports.

 

Jazz slumped forwards, venting heavily, blissfully pain-free. He detected a smell of charring in the air and touched one of his ports. They were so hot he wondered how the jacks had not molten and fused together. Some of them might have, he did not care, there was no more pain. No pain was good.

 

Groggily he pinged their resident scientists.

 

::The frag. Ya nearly fried me!::

 

No response.

 

::Perce!? ‘Jack!?::

 

There was only silence so with raising suspicion he sent a distress signal to his mechs, Mirage would be the first to receive it.

 

Were they under attack so soon after? Jazz could not bring himself to care at the moment. His overheated frame gave out and he crumpled to the blissfully cool floor.

 

With his visor still on reboot, Jazz could only rely on his audios so when the cell door whooshed open the first thing that came out of his vocalizer was.

 

-“The frag was that?”

 

Several mechs entered the room and came to stand around Jazz.

 

-“My apologies, information upload is much more intrusive than download.”

 

-“‘Raj? Th’ frag happened t’ ya?”

 

The voice and harmonics belonged to Mirage but there was something off about how he spoke.

 

-“I will explain in a moment.”

 

The mech knelt next to Jazz and helped him up and into a chair.

 

-“How ‘bout ya start wit’ it now and I need ta have a word with Perce and ‘Jack.”

 

-“I’m afraid the Arc’s crew is currently indisposed.”

 

-“Ah swear if that is some elaborate prank, it ain’t funny.”

 

-“Please let me examine your visor.” First Aid’s voice spoke up next as gentle fingers touched around Jazz’s visor.

 

The saboteur pulled back with a snarl. First Aid Knew how Jazz felt about anyone touching his visor.

 

-“Who The frag are ya an’ Where’s ‘Aid?”

 

Moments later his visor onlined on its own and he saw that the third mech was Smokescreen. All three had pale, unfocused optics that made Jazz immediately recoil.

 

-“Ya ain’t my mecha!”

 

-“They have been temporarily relieved from their primary functions.” The three spoke up at once. -“Their prolonged existence, however, will depend on you.”

 

Jazz just stared at the scene developing before him and got a sinking realization that this was not a nightmare.

 

-“This better be some joke. _”_ Jazz was retreating from the three animated chassis before him. Then he glanced at the prone chassis on the table. Was this? It made no sense.

 

-”Identify yaself.”

 

There was no response but the footsteps approaching their location from down the hallway made Jazz a little more hopeful. Two against three, they could do it. Ratchet rounded the corner and stared at the developing scene with tired wariness. Jazz had never been so happy to see the waspy medic.

 

-”Ratch get help! There’s somethin’ wrong wit’ these mechs!!”

 

The medic did not move however, neither did the three other mecha in the room. After something akin of an internal struggle Ratchet spoke up.

 

-”I know.”

 

…

 

-”You too?”

 

This was wrong, everything was wrong. Behind Jazz, Prowls frame had started twitching and making rudimentary motions, as if searching for the mind that inhabited it. In one leap the saboteur was behind the Praxian frame.

 

Jazz had a dagger over Prowl’s spark chamber in nanoclicks. -“Wanna get back in there? Release them or I’ll wreck this frame that not even Ratchet will be able to fix it.”

 

There was a moment of silence, followed by Mirage’s laughter.

 

-“You think extinguishing That frame’s spark will save your precious Autobots?” Smokescreen _leered_ in a way that made Jazz’s plating crawl.

-”This is not my original body, Jazz. I can inhabit any of the mecha on this wretched world.”

 

First Aid spoke next.

 

-“On the other hand none of the mecha I have within my grasp can escape deletion if I wish to do so.”

 

Jazz ground his denta together but did not retreat.  -”Ah did an’ ah might not be th’ only one.”

 

-”True,” Mirage’s slightly nasal voice spoke up next. -”But if there were any others on Ark, we would have known by now.” The mech spoke without any of his usual mannerisms either.

 

-”Ya lie!” Jazz hissed at Smokescreen who had started approaching Jazz calmly, despite the saboteur pointing a dagger at him.

 

-”I do not need to when I have you in the palm of my hand.” The praxian kept on speaking. -”Like when I said that your behaviour will determine whether or not these mecha will survive.”

 

Smokescreen’s chassis invaded Jazz’s personal space and the saboteur had to fight his ops subroutines not to stab the mech.

 

-“A-are they still there?” Jazz wavered, looking at his comrades. He needed to know before he struck.

 

-“They are. And they are watching you, helpless to say anything unless I allow them to.” Smokescreeen’s voice had turned sardonic, he even wore a nasty grin on his face. -”Smokescreen here knows what will happen to him because of you.”

 

Jazz snorted.

 

-”Fine, so if ye’r so powerful an’ whatnot why ah’m ah still functionin’ an’ why is this place not overrun by ‘cons by now?”

 

Ratchet spoke up next. -“Oh, Jazz. This faction war means very little to me in context of my prolonged survival. And you, you are _special_.”

 

Jazz detested that voice and that tone, even spoken through another mech’s vocalizer it sounded like Prowl.

 

-”So ya clearly want somethin’.” Jazz had an idea and he did not want to hear it.

 

-”You - unresisting to my advances and within my easy reach, in exchange for existence of your entire, lovely faction.”

 

-”Like ah’ll believe ya will follow through ya psycho.”

 

-“I am not here to convince you, Jazz. In either scenario you are the one who has the most to lose. You can consider having a choice in this matter my gift to you. Or I can drop them off one by one before your optics.” After a moment’s pause Smokescreen added -” I think it is time I showed you what I mean by it.”

 

Smokescreen’s vocalizer scratched as if he’d been violently clearing his intake. Life returned to the praxian’s optics and it was full of terror. He breached the last micrometers between Jazz and himself and grasped him by the shoulder struts.

 

-”J-Jaahrrzz, Jahhzz, please, he’ll...kh...me….bzz….” The mech gripped at Jazz chassis a bit tighter as if clinging to Jazz meant clinging to his own life. His face was twisted in effort as his voicebox clicked shut. His chassis spasmed, clenching once before going completely lax, optics going wide and paling to an eerie glow of an empty mind.

 

Jazz fell backwards as Smokescreen’s lifeless frame slumped on top of him. Stricken, he tried squirming from underneath it but was hampered by two sets of hands that restrained him. Jazz was about to lash out but Ratchet spoke next.

 

-”Now, now you would not want to hurt your comrades, would you?”

 

-”Smokes, frag, Smokes, ya killed him ya fragger!”

 

-”No, Jazz, your resistance to me was what killed him. Now will you cooperate of will I proceed with First Aid?”

 

Jazz stopped flailing.

 

All this time he’d played into Prowl’s desires, into his plans but that would not happen again.

 

He let himself be lead towards the slab where Prowl’s frame lay. A firm pair of hands forced Jazz to sit down, cable was jacked into one of his still functioning ports. The other end of the cable was connected to Prowl's frame. Information once more started draining from his processor, at a slower rate now. In a sense it almost felt like energon being drained from his frame.

 

A hand stroked down his chassis and another set of servos steadied his helm to prevent it from lolling to the side.

 

Jazz allowed it.

 

-“Don’t struggle, it hurts more when you do.” Mirage leant down to kiss him. A touch foreign and distant comparing to how Jazz knew him. A set of servos slid to his pelvic joint and flicked at his panel.

 

-“Interesting how I wish to possess you every way imaginable.” First Aid Spoke and out of the corner of his visor Jazz saw Smokescreen’s empty shell of a frame slumped on the floor, residual tremors still going through his doorwings.

 

A whimper escaped his voice box when another, fully formed and far more malicious consciousness brushed against his. Prowl had managed sitting up and looked at Jazz adoringly.

 

::Hush now, no need to grieve. If you consent, neither you nor your comrades will know what happened.::

 

Jazz put a token resistance that was extinguished by a smoothly rising wave of pleasure. It was not his, it nauseated him but it also made him feel _better_.

 

That was ok, Jazz already had something in store for them both. Now if he could only keep it from Prowl.

 

::Ah shoulda known ya had somethin’ brewin’:: He just hadn’t anticipated in which fashion.

 

::A beginners mistake, don’t be too upset about it:: Jazz’s very being was starting to drown in the smooth tide of coding that was Prowl. Perhaps it would be easier to just disappear, to just stop existing.

 

::Grief makes mecha irrational. Smokescreen missed Skids greatly. You can imagine who he met when he went looking for him. After that First Aid plugged into Smokescreen for field repairs, I spread through the medics in minimal time, especially after that messy battle. Ratchet put up some resistance though most didn’t even notice I was there ::

 

Jazz felt so small and so crushed yet despite this, despite Prowl now permeating his being down to the base coding and being able to wipe him out if he so wished, the other did nothing.

 

-“I want your spark chamber now.”

 

Sounded somewhere from the outside and Jazz’s voice rose to an impotent growl as his chest plates parted in response to the medical code override. Jazz turned his gaze outwads and saw Prowl before him, chestplates opening slowly, sparklight spilling out.

 

Prowl stopped for a moment to reverently trace his fingertips along Jazz's spark chamber, then leant forwards and touched their chest plates together.

  

-“Finally, you will be mine, Jazz.”

 

They merged, Jazz was so out of it that he did not register the moment their sparks touched. But he did feel the merge, the feeling of something, someone, a _Thing_ he could not comprehend but that functioned on similar algorithms as himself.

 

::My sweet other half:: it crooned

 

For Jazz the time had come to act. He kicked in his secondary consciousness and pulled a dagger out of his wrist. Too fast, he’d slashed his own energon line. It did not matter not like he’d need it anymore. In the last ditch attempt Jazz wormed the thin blade between their heaving frames, towards their merged sparks and stabbed inwards in hopes of extinguishing Prowl’s spark alongside with his, now that they were meshed.

 

There was blinding pain and then there was nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, now go read something else, like fluffy Jazz/Prowl where they trust and love eachother or something.


End file.
